


Call It A Split

by BlueTwo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Barista Dedue, Lorenz and his customer service karen haircut, M/M, implied unrequited Claurenz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTwo/pseuds/BlueTwo
Summary: Lorenz is every barista's worst nightmare-- until he isn't.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 13
Kudos: 88





	Call It A Split

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings for obnoxious customer complaints over shit you can't control, excessive tips that only rich people can realistically leave but never actually do, and mercedes finding herself growing irritated just looking at lorenz (her! own! words!)
> 
> [mic](https://twitter.com/MichelleDixArt) wanted deduenz and i am helpless but to bow before our most gracious lorenz overlord and beg forgiveness. based off of their [starbucks dedue](https://twitter.com/MichelleDixArt/status/1206358598420439041)! if my baristas looked like that, i wouldn't mind them awkwardly hitting on me every time i try to get a grande soy hazelnut latte.

The tinsel draped around the counter sparkles at him mockingly, like the time his college roommate had dragged him to a clandestine cabaret and the glittery dancer laughed in his face upon realizing the shiver of her silver pasties wasn’t nearly as enticing to him as the smile of the man who’d brought him there. Somehow, however, this is worse— mostly thanks to repressing the trauma of unrequited love, but also because he does not have his favorite holiday drink in hand to help him cope with the work day.

“How can you be out of peppermint? It’s December. This is _Starbucks_.” Lorenz huffs down his nose at the barista; her nametag reads ‘Mercie,’ adorned with several choice heart stickers, but her detached frown offsets their rustic charm. “This is Starbucks, is it not?” 

She stares at him for a long moment, long enough that he becomes acutely aware of how ridiculous he sounds. Alas, he’s had a late night and an earlier morning; his father will be up his ass as soon as he walks into the office; and the painfully heterosexual man he’s been in love with for the past five years posted a shirtless bedroom selfie with his beautiful girlfriend in the background an hour ago. Unfortunately for this Mercie, Lorenz is officially at his limit. 

“I’m sorry sir, but we’ve been out of peppermint since yesterday afternoon,” she tells him anyway. 

This is the closest Starbucks to his house. If he diverts to the one three blocks over, traffic alone adds a half hour to his commute. Is there no justice in this world? There has to be a solution that won’t make him want to walk out into the busy intersection and pray for salvation. 

“If possible, I’d like to speak to your manager,” he says, polite as he can muster with the ends of his sanity fraying. Judging by the purse of her lips, Miss Mercie is unimpressed by his attempt at manners.

“Of course,” she agrees with eyes that scream ‘if I ended your life here and now, no jury would convict.’ “Dedue?” she calls out sweetly. “A customer needs your attention.”

A door opens and Dedue appears behind the counter, and perhaps Lorenz doesn’t have to waltz in front of a dirty 2016 Toyota Prius to redeem the day. He would likely do something as unbecoming as drool if his mouth weren’t already painfully dry from watching the flex of the man’s hands as he places them on the counter between them. Oh, yes, Lorenz needs his attention. He needs it in so many ways. 

“H-hello,” Lorenz stutters, like a buffoon. A visceral wave of desire rips through him as Dedue leans forward, and a thick bicep strains the rolled-up sleeve of his black henley.

“Hi,” Dedue The Manager says, and his voice is smooth and deep and Lorenz would happily take a shot of that over espresso any day. Lorenz has a brief, bold fantasy of yanking the neck of his heinous green apron to pull him close enough to trace the scar on his lip with his tongue. “How can I help you today, sir?”

“Sir!” Lorenz giggles, _giggles_ , like a fucking maniac. But he can’t help it anymore than he can help the blush on his nose like sunburn, or how he cups his chin for something, anything to do with his nervous hands. “Please, call me Lorenz.”

Mercie makes an unflattering face and walks away, leaving Lorenz blissfully alone with the hunky barista of his dreams. 

“Alright, Lorenz. What seems to be the problem?” 

And that rocks Lorenz with a wave of embarrassment. Dedue’s soothing voice has all but swept away Lorenz’s caffeine-induced frustrations, leaving him to flounder in depths of his own making for a reasonable excuse— one that doesn’t make him sound like an asshole. “Well, I,” he laughs nervously. “I was rather disappointed to hear about the lack of peppermint, when it is expressly what brought me here. I’m sorry to kick up such a fuss, but—”

“I get it,” Dedue says with a customer service smile. It’s so handsome, but so fake, and Lorenz really would like to cry— either from the sheer beauty of it, or how obvious it is that he’s a thorn in this man’s broad, oh-so-muscled side. “This time of year is difficult for everyone.” 

“Oh! I don’t mean to imply that you are at fault, or that your jobs are not incredibly fraught on a daily basis—”

His professional veneer sharpens. “But when you don’t get your coffee, tensions start to run high.”

“Ah— tea. I prefer tea,” he corrects, like a fool— because he simply must garner as much ill will as possible with the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on. 

But, oddly enough, that’s what breaks through the forced retail deference and lights interest in Dedue’s eyes, a candle burning at the center of a lush, green wreath. “Tea?” he repeats.

Lorenz fidgets, even going so far as to adjust his collar. Suddenly, the stack of gift cards on the counter is very interesting. “Yes, typically I prefer a rose blend, or something favoring fruit accents, but during the holidays it’s nice to be a bit— festive. To get through the cold weather,” he rambles, “and… attitudes.” 

“I know a thing or two about that,” Dedue says conversationally. “I grew up near the mountains, and winters were always harsh, mentally and physically. Tea helped. Though not the kind Fódlan typically has.” 

A coffee mixer drops off to the side near the espresso machine. The clang jerks Lorenz to attention, momentarily forgetting his shame-ridden study of the counter so he can find the source of the sound. The tin cup stays on the ground as Mercie watches, mouth hanging open. For the life of him, Lorenz can’t fathom why she would be so shocked. He also thinks she better put that in the dishwasher before using it again.

Unlike Lorenz, the clamor leaves Dedue unfazed; he has no words of chastisement for his employee, preferring instead to stay riveted on his increasingly flustered guest. Lorenz clears his throat. “I’ve been impressed by Almyran blends,” he offers. “Their pine needle tea especially. Though of course I have a bias towards the Gloucester Rose blend, of my family’s making. You ought to try it sometime.” 

“Perhaps I will,” says Dedue. Lorenz has no idea how to reply, and he hasn’t even ordered— not that he knows what to ask for when his preference is unavailable. But then Dedue continues: “I might have an alternative to the peppermint, if you care to wait a few minutes.” 

“Oh!” Lorenz says, surprised and a little horrified at the inconvenience he’s caused. “I couldn’t possibly be such a bother—”

“Nonsense,” Dedue stops him, and it’s so brusque that Lorenz blinks and stays stuck in place once he disappears into the backroom again— that is, until Mercie clears her throat, re-manning the register to help the short woman in line behind him. She raises an eyebrow at him, but he sniffs and pretends he doesn’t see. Chin high, he glides away to claim a bar stool and wait, ankles crossed. 

As the moments tick past, Lorenz starts to wonder if Dedue was mocking him, skin crawling as he fights not to replay every unspoken social blunder that would warrant such disregard. He’s so lost in his own increasingly distressed musings that he doesn’t realize Dedue has returned until he’s in front of him, holding a hot venti cup. 

“Try this,” he says, and Lorenz gazes up—a man taller than he is, to think!—and accepts it with both hands. 

Lorenz goes to take a sip, but Dedue stops him with a hand— a rather large one, at that. Lorenz almost swallows his tongue instead at the rush of heat that is definitely not from the steaming drink burning through the cardboard. “Be careful. It’s still hot.” 

“Oh,” Lorenz breathes. “Thank you.”

Dedue nods and returns behind the counter. Lorenz stays frozen there, heart beating too fast in his chest, until he realizes something. “Wait!” he says, rushing to the register. 

Both Mercie and Dedue look up from their whispered conversation. They wait expectantly for him to continue, and Lorenz is sure he will never be able to set foot in this Starbucks ever again after this. 

“I didn’t pay,” he says, gesturing towards the register, still cradling the hot cup.

Dedue smiles at him again, but this one is the opposite of his first: relaxed and reassuring. “I know.”

Lorenz stares. He wasn’t expecting that answer. 

However, it emboldens him enough to do something he never has. He sets the drink down on the counter to slide his wallet out of his pocket. Briskly, he drops two fifties into the tip jar, and his business card on the counter. With one painted fingernail, he pushes it towards Dedue. “That’s for you,” he adds. Before his courage can fail him, he pockets his wallet and grabs his cup, zipping out the door to his waiting car.

As the door swings shut behind him, the bitter chill rushes across his skin and he reflexively takes a sip of his drink to banish it. A fragrant dance of hibiscus and rosehips curls on his tongue, soft and floral and— with the tang of peppermint. He looks down at the cup in surprise, then spins back around to the glass doors of the building only to find Dedue still watching him. Lorenz bites his lip and beams so big that it tugs at even his properly-moisturized cheeks in the chapped, cold weather. Dedue raises a hand farewell, a familiar business card between two of his fingers.

Once Lorenz is back inside his car, he’s barely turned it on before his phone vibrates on its stand. It’s a text from an unknown number. He shifts gears and eases into flow of traffic; he can’t wait to get to work for once, regardless of what his father will throw at him. After all, he has a message to answer.


End file.
